


the lies we tell ourselves

by hydrospanners



Series: renegade [35]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Introspection, Nirea Velaran, POV Second Person, Post-Jedi Under Siege
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrospanners/pseuds/hydrospanners
Summary: they say you never really appreciate the things you have until you lose them. that's a mistake nirea velaran doesn't intend to make twice, but old habits are hard to break.





	the lies we tell ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit experimental and I'm not sure it's actually part of Rea's canon but something in me needed to write it so here it is.

You say things will be different. In the smallest hours of the night, when the darkness weighs on you like a lead weight and the empty pillow beside you feels cold as ice, you promise yourself. You promise him. You promise the universe. You promise up and down and left and right and in and out and every other direction you know. You promise in directions that haven’t been discovered yet. You promise with everything you are and everything you were and everything you’ll ever be.

 

_If I get another chance, things will be different._

 

It becomes a prayer. A better Code than any the Jedi ever gave you. Every time you reach for his hand or start to nudge him with your elbow. Every time you search out his eyes, knowing he’s thinking of the same joke you are. Every time you wake up expecting to feel his warmth between your arms. Every time you make a cup of caf for a man who isn’t there to drink it.

 

 _If I get another chance_ , you swear, _things will be different_.

 

You get your chance. You drop into his life for the second time just like you did the first, riding the waves of disaster, the only blade between him and death. You don’t know if it’s luck or fate that brings him back to you, and for once you don’t care. How it happened doesn’t matter with his hands on your body and his tongue in your mouth. With your tears on his cheeks and your fingers in his hair.

 

 _Things are going to be different_ , you tell him. You mean it. You’ve given enough of yourself to the war; this time you’re giving yourself to him. To all those vacations he always talked about, to spa days and cheesy theme parks and romantic cruises and spending every night for the rest of your lives tangled up in him. You’re giving yourself to loving him the way he ought to have been loved from the start.

 

Things are different this time.

 

Until they aren’t.

 

Until the call comes through that no one else can answer. Until innocent lives are on the line again and this time it _has_ to be you.

 

He tells you to go. He tells you he never wanted you to give up your life. He tells you he loves this about you too, how much of yourself was never yours to give. He tells you this is what he wants and what he chose.

 

You don’t really believe him. You know, deep in your bones, there’s a seed of resentment in his heart and every time you leave, every time you can’t give him what he deserves, what he waited so many years for, the roots of it dig a little deeper. You know it’s only a matter of time before they strangle his love. Before you lose your second chance at this too.

 

You know it will happen--everyone leaves, no exceptions--but you swear to yourself you won’t let it happen _yet_. You swear he still comes first, you swear you’ll spend your time making memories to keep you warm when you finally lose him. You swear this job is a one time thing.

 

It isn’t.

 

Time flows over you like water over stone and smoothes the edges left jagged by those years, by carbonite and heartache and loss. The pain of it dulls, the memories of those nights alone fade, and your prayer doesn’t feel quite as urgent as it used to.

 

You’re still making more time for him, you reason. You have a job to do and you do it but not at the expense of him. Not at the expense of your time together. You tell yourself that this is different than before.

 

You’ve always been an excellent liar.

 

Time flows and flows and flows. Your wounds close up into scars and you forget what all that hurting felt like. He calls it healing, but you can’t hold on to the joy of him, the relief of having his life wrapped up again in yours, without holding on to the way you ached and burned without him. It’s the pain of loss that reminds you to cling to him with everything you have, to treasure him and cherish him the way he deserves, the way you never did before. It’s the pain that reminds you to make the most of the time you have. Without it… without it you forget.

 

Things were supposed to be different this time, but you still find yourself waking up to a cold, empty pillow half a galaxy away from him. It’s been weeks since you touched him, days since you heard his voice. He sent a message yesterday but you haven’t had time to answer. There’s a war on, after all. People are counting on you. What can be more important?

 

 _If I get another chance_ , you swore, _things will be different_.

 

You’ve always been an excellent liar.

 


End file.
